


Fries on the Hogwarts Express

by Cordoue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Air fryer, British Agriculture, Friendship, Potatoes, culinary arts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:40:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29483859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordoue/pseuds/Cordoue
Summary: A short account of Alphard Black's first encounter with Tom Riddle, on the Hogwarts Express.
Kudos: 5





	Fries on the Hogwarts Express

I first met Tom on the Hogwarts Express. Perhaps if a more discerning child was in my place, they would have seen traces of the great, terrible wizard that the boy seated across me in that compartment was to become. But alas, it was just me, Alphard Black, doe-eyed and stupid and trusting of the whole world, that shared a compartment with Tom Riddle on his very first ride to Hogwarts. He wore a rather bleak little grey outfit, the uniform of his orphanage as I was later to learn, whereas I wore purple robes that my late mother purchased in France, weaved from acromantula-silk and enchanted to blow ever so softly even when there was no wind. It was not from his outfit that I came under the impression he was a muggle-born, but rather the jealous surprise that overcame his face as he beheld mine.

Nonetheless, we got on rather well. I fancy that I was the first wizard to have shown him wand-magic. My mother Irma is a Crabbe, a family renowned for their gourmandism, at least back in my day—and she left me well-armed to make my first friend at school.

"D'you know any spells then?" Tom had asked me, upon my boasting that my father had found great acclaim in the publishing of his latest spellbook, _The Forgotten Gems of 19th Century English Enchantology_.

"Why yes, and I've just what I need to demonstrate it," I told him. Indeed, in my extended suitcase I kept a sack of Lady Christl potatoes. I withdrew one.

"My aunt Cassiopeia grows all sorts of vegetables on her estate," I proclaimed. "Pink lettuce, truffles, even dragonfruit, from the Far East. But it's these that I like the best — homegrown British potatoes."

"And what can you do with them?" asked Tom, almost derisively.

"Watch," I told him patiently. Then I withdrew my wand, and with a thrust and a jab, cast my spell, " _diffindo cannuccare!_ "

The potato cut itself into perfect straws. I almost felt sorry for poor Tom, his eyes bulged at my housewitch's trick as though I had just conjured a dragon-sized Patronus.

"It's a _subtle_ spell," I repeated my mother's words to him. "Nowadays everything is vulgar — they don't care for luxury charms anymore."

He nodded in seeming agreement, and I found the other item I required in my suitcase. A little wooden box my mother had made and called the _broiler_ , one need only put the potato straws in it, tap it with a wand twice, and wait ten minutes for a crispy little snack.

Later as we enjoyed the straws together, he asked me if my spell could be "used on a human head." I did not know the answer back then, and nor do I know it now. Nor have I any desire to find out. But at the time, all those decades ago in the Hogwarts Express, I just laughed—laughed as though he had asked me something patently ridiculous, like whether there might be an ancient, forgotten chamber the size of the Great Hall under one of Hogwarts' many girls' lavatories. He laughed with me.

Perhaps I would not have laughed if I knew that I had just incited the first 'domino' of the 'domino effect', the muggle expression that Professor Slughorn held dear to his heart for all things to do with potions, of becoming the personal chef of the most violent and powerful Dark Lord in the history of wizarding Britain.


End file.
